Doppelganger
by Megii of Mysteri OusStranger
Summary: Before confronting Light during the college ceremony, L attempts to call on someone who wants nothing to do with him: a college professor. "Alternate killed himself, Backup went insane, and Copy was murdered; now there is only you, D."


Doppelganger

Summary: _Before revealing himself to Light during the college ceremony, L attempts to call on someone who wants nothing to do with him: a college professor. "Alternate killed himself, Backup went insane, and Copy was murdered, now there is only you, Doppelganger."_

_

* * *

_

It was cloudy that day. She wasn't sure why that stood out. Rainy or overcast days weren't unusual, common even, yet for some reason the calm, soft-eraser grey had been the first thing she noticed when walking into her classroom. There was at least forty-five minutes left until the students were due to start shuffling in. A yellow stick of chalk was picked up by long, spindly fingers and pressed against the blackboard. The soft, clicking sound of writing soothed her.

As they always did, her pupils began shuffling in near eight o'clock, notebooks and laptops and textbooks held under their arms: _Advanced Russian History, Semester C_.

The men and women cast glances at the back of her crisp white blouse as they took their seats, one or two of the more social girls calling out to her in greeting, bubbly and kind.

"Good morning, Professor!"

She nodded, sparing them only a glance. Five minutes before the bells rang she finished her writing and wiped the dust from her hands onto a handkerchief— she was not a casual enough teacher to walk around with dusty yellow handprints all over her navy blue slacks, joking with her PhD and Master Degree-seeking pupils. Most of those pupils were older than her, not that they were aware of that.

At the last minute, a group of men came stumbling through the doorway, laughing at top volume, backs hunched, eyes squinted, fists pounding on knees, mouths gasping like beached flounders.

One of the men looked up at her, "Haha, hey, it's Professor _Flats_! Hahaha!" His comment only served to increase the group's laughter and she cringed as even a few already seated students failed to hold back their guilty chuckles.

She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest, or rather, lack thereof. "You have fifteen seconds to quiet down and take your seats or the whole class gets a pop quiz."

That shut them up. She resisted the desire to smirk in triumph as they hurried to the open chairs, managing to make a racket even with their mouths closed. Tucking an unruly strand of black hair behind her ear she picked up her teacher's textbook and began that day's lecture. The room filled with the sound of tapping keyboards, scurrying pencils and pens, turning pages.

Her strong voice reached from wall to wall with little effort; book perched precariously on the fingers of one hand, the other swinging around, bringing her words to life in a way that kept peoples' attention, unlike her appearance, which had always diverted it or simply brought about the _wrong kind_ of attention. She made a point of repeatedly calling on the five men who had burst in, much to their suffering; they held their aching skulls and grumbled now that their fun was over, hangovers seemed to be settling in.

She loved her job; loved telling the stories of the past to nubile, eager, young minds, making the dull black and white words on paper come to life and become exciting. It hadn't been easy, leaving her past behind and starting over, breaking habits and breaking ties, but freedom was worth the struggle and sacrifice.

Still talking, she set down her book and turned back to the chalkboard, pulling down a clean slate and began writing with both hands, scribbling text across the surface at twice the speed of an average person. Her students were unfazed, used to their mentor's unusual quirks. A few of them participated in her evening electives: Speaking Backwards In Any Language and Using Math To Predict Your Future (because palm reading could predict only your health, tarot cards chaos, and crystal balls were for drugged up hippies).

She set down her chalk and turned to face her class again, eyes roaming over their faces. A man perched oddly in his seat nearly caused her to falter. She only just managed to keep her tongue from tumbling over itself. An unpleasant tightness coiled in her gut and hot pressure began to build in her temples.

"Class is dismissed early today," she said once she had finished the first section of what had originally meant to be a three-chapter lecture. "No homework. Finish the notes written on the board and leave my classroom."

There was a pungent silence as the students looked at her in disbelief: The quirky, demanding Russian History Professor not giving out homework?_What_?

"Hurry up!" She snapped.

Well, at least they could be sure that she wasn't an alien imposter.

Subconsciously, she brought a hand to her mouth as she sat at her desk, biting her nails with the fervor of someone starved. Her long feminine nails, which she had taken so many years to grow out and was so very proud of, were nibbled to unsightly gardening stubs within a few minutes. Her students hurried away, some taking photos of the chalkboard with their cell phones rather than stick around to write it all out. The man whose appearance had so rattled her remained unmoving, his knees pressed up against his shoulders. Soon the last student walked out, the door clanging shut behind her.

Then it was only the professor and the strange man.

"Hello, Professor Nabokov." He greeted. His voice was monotone, his eyes a pair of black holes sucking in all light and knowledge set before them. He didn't blink.

Her emotions threatened to shut down into cool indifference, but she held on tight to the negative and sour feelings rushing through her blood. She would not, could not, fall back into that old mechanism.

"Hello, L." She acknowledged gravely. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. "Do you often pose as a college student in order to talk to people or am I just special?"

He tilted his head to the side in a bird-like manner. "Neither."

What a bastard. Gathering an immense amount of willpower, she tore her gaze away from him and focused her attention of the scattered mess of essays piled on her desk, collecting them into an organized stack to take a red marker to later.

"What are you calling yourself this time?"

"Alexander."

The corner of her mouth curled at the irony. "What a fitting name for a Russian History student."

"Yes, I thought so too."

Her movements came to a halt. Grimacing, she shoved her chair away from the desk, the wood screeching harshly against the flooring, and stood, resisting the overwhelming desire to curl up into a ball and claw at her hair.

"What do you want, _Alexander_?"

At first he didn't respond. He stood up from his place at the desk and walked down the stairs, spidery hands pushed in his pockets, back hunched in the awkward curve she remembered so well. His white shirt was covered with unsightly wrinkles, oversized blue jeans slipping around his hips and covering a pair of frayed, unlaced sneakers; he looked more like an overworked art student than the world's greatest detective.

He came to a pause on the other side of her desk, thumb pressed against his lower lip, eyes drinking her in. "I would like your assistance."

Her charcoal-lined eyes narrowed. It was not difficult to catch on to what he was referring to. "The Kira issue."

His mouth curved in approval. "Yes."

"No."

As soon as it had come, the curve vanished. "Why not?"

"Because I hate you," she said venomously.

His lips thinned. "I do not find that to be a sufficient answer."

"As if I care what you do and do not find 'sufficient.''' She snipped, moving over to the window. The clouds were churning.

"Doppelganger," he insisted, noting the way her slight, unshapely frame stiffened at the name, "I am in need of your assistance. I… cannot bring down Kira alone."

She turned her head, dark eyes boring into dark eyes. "How painful it must be for the great L to have to lower himself to asking others for help." She sneered. "I have no reason to help you."

"Then don't do it for me, Doppelganger, do it for justice."

God, he hadn't changed at all over the years. Not his ideals or his appearance; he was still the wide-eyed, cherub-cheeked person she had been raised to adore. It would be easy, so easy to slip back into that role, no matter her sharper cheekbones, narrower eyes, or longer hair.

"No," she whispered, her voice rough. She broke eye contact, lowering her lashes to the floor as she pulled her hair out of its ponytail. Stretching the band between her fingers she let the elastic fling itself somewhere amongst the seats.

She listened to him exhale and knew he was irritated now. His finger pulled at his lower lip, rolling the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. "I can destroy your reputation here, you know. I could hack into the system and reveal all your secrets, your true history, your real name, to your employers."

She laughed bitterly as thunder boomed. "You would try to threaten me?"

"I'm not threatening you, D," he said coolly, "Just stating a fact."

She snorted, turning away from him to gaze out the windows. "If you're going to waste my time stating facts, then state ones that are relevant to your purpose for being here."

She felt his bottomless eyes sear into the back of her head, sucking her in. "Come on, D, assist me. Your help in capturing Kira would be priceless, and you would get to do what you always dreamed of doing as a child. You would get to act in my place."

She smiled, a soft, mourning quirk of the lips that he could only see through her reflection in the window. "Old dreams, L. Dead dreams. If you believe I still want that life then you're crazier than you look. Try C if you're that desperate; as far as I know, he still adores you."

For a moment he was silent, then:

"D, Copy is dead."

She whipped around to face him fully, eyes wide and stricken, her pale complexion losing what little pigment it had. The shadow of stubble along her jaw and upper lip became visible, though only just, remnants of the testosterone therapy that had once plagued her body.

"How?"

"Kira."

She ground her teeth; black bangs falling over her eyes. "How?" she repeated.

L thumbed his lower lip. "I needed someone to pose as myself in order to pinpoint where Kira was located. Lind took on the job willingly and was killed by Kira during the broadcast in the Kanto region of Japan."

Her inky eyes flashed. "You son of a bitch. You put him up to that—such a meaningless sacrifice—!"

"It wasn't meaningless."

"It was unnecessary! You could have easily devised a dozen—a hundred other ways to narrow down Kira's position—!"

"Could have. Tried. And failed."

"Bullshit."

L's eyes hardened. "Lind's death was not in vain, but if you do not help me, it very well could be."

She hissed furiously and stomped up to him. "Don't you _dare_! Don't you dare try to manipulate my feelings for Copy, don't you dare, L!"

He was silent, but his lack of words spoke more than any sound could.

"What more can you take from me, L?" She spread her arms, her expression contorting into agonized amusement. "_What more can you take from me?_ What? My _fake_ identity, perhaps? _Why_? After so many years why come looking for me now? Will you use me like you did Copy, as an imposter to protect yourself with? Will you put me in the direct line of fire, throwing me to the missiles like a dummy while you make your heroic getaway?"

"No, D, I wouldn't do something like that." It was said innocently, far too innocently.

Her lips curled in a baleful smirk. "You're wasting your breath trying to lie to me. I spent too many years of my life being trained to be a flawless replacement of you. The four of us probably knew you better than you yourself did."

"Which is exactly why I need you now."

She inhaled sharply through her nostrils, the words striking deep in her heart. For a moment she was silent; echoes of a long forgotten dream resounding throughout her being. "No," she said at last, "Forget it. I refuse. Put your own life on the line this time. I won't help you. I don't _need_you anymore. I have an identity of my own now, a life."

"Even though it's a lie?" He pressed.

"It's _my_ lie. I am content with it."

"Only content?"

She sneered at him, crossing her arms. "Don't say that as if happiness was ever a possibility for us. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never have anything remotely resembling a normal life. I won't be uprooted by _you_."

Again, there was a pause between them; L looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps there is something I can give you to convince you to come back to me…?"

She glared at him. "Yeah, sure, give me a uterus to bear a child in and breasts to nurse that child on. _Then_ I'll help you, L."

He flinched vividly, his head lowering further down between his shoulders. Still, he did not look away from her, allowing his eyes to roam over her form. Yes, he remembered those surgeries, remembered when the idea was proposed and when he gave the green light. He remembered the steel rods that had once stuck out of her calves with the purpose of making her taller. He remembered the shape of the scars hidden underneath her clothing on her abdomen and chest; remembered, watching through a camera, the budding preteen lying on the surgery table with a smile on her lips and tears flowing from the corners of her eyes as they prepared to remove the organs that defined her as female.

"_It's okay that I'll never get to be a mommy," _she had said, _"I'm going to be L!"_

Doppelganger could have easily been Backup if not for her sex; she was a girl who was raised to be a boy and she had adapted into that role beautifully. But then Alternate committed suicide and Backup ran away and tried to become the world's greatest criminal. After B's tragedy, the program was shut down and Copy and Doppelganger became two children whose reason to live was stripped away, the sacrifices they made entirely worthless.

Beneath her smoky eyeliner was a thick layer of ivory foundation hiding the plum circles under her eyes the same way golden buttercream frosting hid chocolate cake. Insomnia still plagued her, he knew, and the side effects of the medications she took only made her struggling lifestyle more difficult: rashes, sudden dizziness, nausea, diarrhea and constipation, memory loss, nightmares, headaches, and addiction. And Doppelganger was horribly addicted.

His face softened and for a moment he looked genuinely aggrieved. "I know it is probably of no consolation, but I am truly sorry."

"You're right, it's not of any consolation."

"There is nothing else you could possibly want?"

"I want to be a mother. That is all I have ever wished for."

"There is always… adoption…" He tried feebly.

"If I wanted to adopt, don't you think I would have done it by now?"

"…yes. I suppose you would have."

The defiant fire had faded from Doppelganger's eyes, replaced with a weary sadness. "There is nothing you can offer me or take from me that will convince me to help you, L."

He knew that. Had hoped he could convince her otherwise, but he had very little leverage on her now. Hopefully he could capture Kira safely without her. Resigned, he turned away from her and walked away.

"Should you change your mind, you know how to contact Whammy."

"I won't change my mind." She said stubbornly.

"Nevertheless." He closed his fingers around the doorknob and turned.

"Goodbye, Doppelganger."

"It's Dolly, now, L."

He nodded, though she couldn't see it. "Dolly. You always wanted one."

"Go."

He pushed the door open and was gone.

The clouds shifted and it began to rain.

**End**

* * *

_To make one thing clear, in case it wasn't: L wanted Doppelganger to pose as himself at To-Oh and be the one confronting Light claiming to be L. What a different outcome that could have led to!_

_A bit of a false background for Lind L Talior too. I am well aware that, according to the canon, he was a criminal on death row, however L is not above lying, so I see no reason why he may not have lied about Lind's background. Lind's appearance was short and sweet, leaving him as a character very easily manipulated into fanfiction. It's too bad we see so little of him._

_I know it has been traditional for other people with letter aliases to have first and last names starting with the same letter, but I don't believe that to have to be a strict requirement. I think Mello, Near, and Matt are perfect examples of this._

_I am not continuing this. I have too many other projects, both fanfic and original. However, if anyone else wants to start their own fic with this one as a base or inspiration, you are welcome to do so. I would love to see it._

_Read, review, and all that jazz,_

_Megii_


End file.
